Thanks for the reviews. Thanks to everyone who followed and added to your favourites.
I don't own the walking dead.
Chapter II: endless fourth Thursday
Early Thursday 4.
He wakes up disoriented, and he still tastes her on his tongue. Ultimately, he reaches for her. After surviving last night, he wants to hug her for dire life. His hands caress an empty bedside. Instinct picks up the hidden clues, and the bedsheets are cold. The entire night, no one was by his side.
She left hours before he woke up. Mike's curiosity grows, and a sentiment of dread refuses to abandon him. Last night was insane and perilous. The saviors found them. After running through dark streets, he and his girlfriend survived miraculously. Adrenaline still pumped into his bloodstream, and fear invaded their mind. Although, he doesn't believe she will not abandon him. He is loyal to her, and so she should be to him.
Yet, he feels sudden dizziness, and sweat drenches his forehead. The feeling is familiar, and his body feels like cotton wool. Mike is exhausted, but an abnormal kind of exhaustion. The young man throws his body from the bed. His knees wobble and are unable to carry him. As heavy as a stone in a waveless ocean, his body sinks to the ground. His eyes blur, and he transpires faster. The physical discomfort is familiar.
The bitch drugged me. His vacillating thoughts conclude.
….
….
….
Due to his numb leg, Mike can't rise from the ground. On his back, he stares at the spiralling ceiling. For several hours, he worries about his fate. How did he finish in this mess? He has a wife, a loyal one who he abandoned. The young man doesn't know the actual time. He needs to leave the motel room before they catch up with him.
Mike knows he should have left Atlanta when he decided to abandon his past boring life. However, she convinced him to wait, and he trusted her. The young man couldn't doubt his girlfriend's loyalty. When Negan discovered his perfect fraud, she warned him and gave him a chance to survive the mobster wrath.
Now, Mike questions her motives to inform. Last night, the saviors were after her and not him. He didn't know she stole from Negan. The idiot thought she followed him out of her heart's nobility. She, Andrea, a woman who he never learned the surname.
With every step, which echoes in the motel corridors, Mike fears the saviors' arrival. For half a day, He can't move, which permits him a situation's analysis. How stupid was it to share the money location with Andrea? How stupid was it to enter into conflict with the saviors for her beautiful blue eyes? He told her everything when she never told him her surname.
Andrea was mysterious, and she wasn't boring. Now, Mike regrets his boring husband and father life. He told the blonde bitch everything about his embezzlement, but she didn't explain why the saviors were after her. He doesn't know what she took from Negan. Last night, he discovered how much trouble she was. With each second, his hope to see Andrea disappears.
…
….
….
With a galloping heart, he wonders if she took every single penny. Mike tries to calm himself but fails. Incessantly, His thoughts remind him of the danger lurking in the corner. He needs a way out, or he is going to die. As a lost and confused child would, He starts sobbing uncontrollably. Heavy salted pearls roll on warm inflamed cheeks, and he chokes on waves of tears clogging his vocal cords.
He regrets the day when he confidently took out every single clothes from the closet, which he shared with his wife. Eagerly, he walked out of his flat, and he didn't leave a letter or an apology for Michonne. Mike has a wife, a boring loyal one. Boring but loyal, that is his Michonne. Tears slide on the corner of his face and break on the dirty carpet. His mind skips to his wife, and there is a burgeoning hope. Michonne is always on call.
With conviction, he crawls on the rough carpet. The rough stained light beige material scratches his naked flesh, and the remnants dirt from the previous room's occupant cling on his wet skin. Through a Herculean effort, Mike drags the pants, which he discarded on the floor mid-coitus. Desperately, he digs through his pocket. For now, his pockets are empty. His wallet disappeared and with it, the access to the money. The rental's key is unfindable. Endlessly, Fat ugly tears fall on Mike's face.
The bitch, she can't do him this dirty. Where is his phone? Mike's heart threatens to stop. If he doesn't die from a heart attack, the saviors will finish the work.
Desperately, He continues digging into each pocket, and he searches into some pocket twice. Ultimately, a cry of hope leaves his lips. He fishes his mobile phone from the back pocket. Fingers press each number so desperately that the screen may crack. With shaking fingers, he hits the call option. The first ring starts, and it's endless. Michonne is unavailable. When it announces to Mike that his correspondent is unreachable, the automatic voice sounds like a mocking god.
...
...
...
An irony, Michonne has always been reachable to Mike. Although, Michonne is doing some reaching of her own. Her hands are running down Rick's back, and she is reaching for his erected manhood. She faintly hears her phone ringing. Mike calls her multiple times, but there is only endless ringing. At the time of his calls, Michonne is having sex with Rick Grimes. A situation, which is another consequence of Mike's stupid decision to run. Tired of the interruption, Rick switches off her phone.
...
...
...
Until his cellphone's battery drains, Mike continues to call for three hours. He writes a quick message, and he loses his hope. The sobs become ugly snotty tears. Alone and abandoned, Mike may face his death.
With desperation, Mike stares at the empty cold spot on the bed. A spot as empty as the closet, which he left behind in the apartment he shared with Michonne. Although, he cared more for his designer suits than he did for his wife and child. The young man feels life returning to his legs, and he stands combatively on four. He draws a deep breath and creeps to the bedside cupboard. He grabs the Motel's phone and uses his only free call.
"Hey, Chonne I need your help… please." Between sobs and panic, He forces the words out his mouth.
Thursday 4 approximately 10p.m.
"Hey, Chonne I need your help… please." For a second time, she listens to Mike's pleading voice echoing in her room.
Rehearing the message doesn't clear her mind, and the repercussions of his voice on her psychic are unwholesome. The lights blur out, and objects around Michonne lose their original shape. She is mentally disoriented, and the pain extends to her body. She feels nauseous, and a bitter taste coats her tongue.
Her heart withholds blood, and her body becomes pale and cold. It is a small hypoxic death. Ultimately, her heart restarts to beat, and a sharp pain transcends her chest. Michonne voraciously gulps the air surrounding her fragile body. Anxiety is a familiar emotion to every unexpected situation.
Seeing through the curtain of tears is hard. Reddened eyes constantly move between her shaking fingers and her phone landline. Michonne has to decide. The young woman tries to breathe, but anxiety fills her lungs with lead. Her hands wrap around her throat, and Michonne starts to hyperventilate. What is she going to do? She never thought he would call.
"Hey, Chonne I need your help… please." She replays the message trying to find a solution, which will absolve her of guilt.
The room shrinks around her. Breathing is so hard. Claustrophobia is an emerging side effect of her anxious state. Her fingers flatten around the table's cold surface, and her eyes squint to stare at the phone. She searches for explanations and so much more. Perhaps, his message contains some indices. Perhaps, the way he breathes after each word may reveal the causes of his departure. Perhaps, it will help her to decide between calling Rick and helping Mike.
….
….
….
When Mike's voice fills the room, Michonne pictures her husband in extreme distress. She picks despair in the sound of his voice and the muffled cries. When she thinks he could be hurt, her generous heart stops. Calling Rick doesn't appear to be a great option. Michonne's panic worsens. Tears' droplets roll over her warm cheek and end their course on her open palms.
The sobs die where they are born, in her vocal cords. No sounds leave her mouth. In the past two months, she has learned to cry while Andre sleeps. Michonne has mastered the art of silent crying.
Two is Sixty days. It is 720 hours, but it is also 86,400 minutes or an outrageously grand numbers of seconds. If it helps to put in perspective how long she waited for any proof of life, the unit used to express time matter. Two months is a short period in a lifetime. When it is spent staring at a phone, it becomes an eternity.
Therefore, her reaction to Mike's message rightfully flirts with psychotic behaviours and compulsions. Irremediably, the two months changed her life and morphed her into a woman who she doesn't recognize. A call could have prevented everything. Rick Grimes will be out of her life. It means more than a call, and she will have to betray her husband. There lies Michonne's conflict.
"Hey, Chonne…" After she so eagerly tried to hear it again for the umpteenth time, Michonne interrupts the message.
Mike's intonation doesn't change, and it is still a pleading cry. When she listened to it for the tenth time, the words were still the same. Consequently, Michonne doesn't understand why she needs to hear it so many time. Yet, she continues to press one, and so the intercom replays the message
The young woman is doing it again. Like two months ago, when she started staring at their shared closet as a compulsive ritual. Perhaps with repetition, she will notice a difference. It didn't work with the closet. Ultimately, she admitted Mike left without a thought for her.
If she listens to it twenty more times, will she hear something she missed? There is no chance the words contained in this message will suddenly become a heartfelt apology. Although, Michonne can't help but press one again. She has flirted too long with insanity to act in a reasonable manner.
"Hey, Chonne I need your help… please." She hears the words echo inside the empty closet, where she sits on the floor.
It feels so much like a month before this arrangement distracts her mind. Michonne picks the phone, and silence her heart so her mind can protect her.
Thursday 4 approximately 11 p.m.
He climbs the staircase silently, and so he will not disturb his sleeping son. Rick walks toward the room, which he shares with his wife. The detective will prefer to find an empty bed, but Lori is back from her retreat. She has the exact same glow that she has after every other week of a good fuck. Although, her husband can care less.
Tonight, he carries a similar type of token of a good fuck. He climbs into bed with Lori while he smells as Michonne does. The mixture of sexual scents with the perfume of the most exquisite woman covers his skin. The aroma hits Lori because of its potency, which stands as proof of prolonged contacts. It wasn't a quickie. The brunette stomach churns due to her blood pressure rising.
She notices the differences, but Lori refuses to acknowledge it. She has to reconcile the idea of sex with her husband. The same Rick Grimes, who is grateful after a blowjob. He will never seek external sexual pleasure. With aghast eyes, she stares at Rick. She must consider multiple options, which don't correlate with what she knows of her husband.
Rick works hard to keep a clean image. To everyone including his wife, he is sweetly innocent and the butt of the joke. Although, in the past month, something started to shatter. He finds it hard to pretend. Perhaps, because every Thursday, he has the possibility to unleash the animalistic part of him. Slipping back into the role of officer friendly is harder since he started to free himself.
Tonight, he hasn't bothered to take a shower before leaving the cartel's mansion. He didn't want to wash Michonne sweet sexual juice away. He needed a source of comfort. His emotional control has started to vacillate. Sex with Michonne has a bigger impact on him than he suspects. She was supposed to be a one-time thing, and Rick Grimes doesn't repeat his girls. Although, she clarified that she isn't his, except during few hours on Thursday.
Keeping her suave scent on him is a way to calm his frustration and a sign of melancholy. Thursday affects him in a surprising manner, and he submits himself to a sweet torture. Fucking Michonne is great, and it is addictive. As anything addictive, there is a level of tolerance from where it is no longer enough. Few hours every Thursday, to then crave her the entire week.
….
….
…..
Lori's accusing eyes are on him. Rick tries to ignore his wife while he discards his clothes. Every Thursday, he tries to sleep in the mansion. Consequently, he can avoid such situations. Although, it is harder to stay in an empty room when Michonne leaves. Tonight after Michonne unsubtle rejection, he could n't support the oppressing emptiness. Her feminine scent imprinted on the pillows was of no support. Although, the previous nights, her scent helped Rick reach an empty comfort. Melancholy can be a mock companion, but it is also a haunting feeling. Michonne is the centre of Rick's melancholy. She is a sort of comfort companion, but she is a haunting sentiment and an extreme need.
Those are the side effects of tolerance, and tolerance results in always seeking for more. Rick thought possessing her to some extent would be a solid fixture, and so he accepted the arrangement. He didn't foresee the hazardous consequences. He wanted a fuck, and she was willing to offer one. Truly, he believed a fuck would rid his system of a visceral craving. Now, four Thursday later and multiple ungodly touches, she is engraved under his skin deeper than any scars he carries.
Rick thinks of Michonne in his free hour, and he dreams of her in her presence. Does he care if her husband comes back? No, he can keep the money, and any shit related to whatever stupid mess, which he dug from himself. Although, he knows Mike will come back. Children are drawn to fire. Adult worshipped it for its warmth. It scares and fascinates animal. Unfortunately, Michonne is a raging fire. Mike is a spoiled brat, and so he will return. Rick is a bit of an animalistic adult.
The mixture of their sensual sweaty scents saturated the room atmosphere, and it drove him insane. Which is why he tried to find a balance in a neutral environment. Space, which has no association with her or him. It is the ultimate facade in his life. A protecting façade and now, he needs protection from his own mind. The home, which he shared with Lori, is an unexpected refuge.
….
….
….
When his blasé blue eyes meet his wife's one, Rick reconsiders his decision. From the second he met Michonne, he knew she would tear apart his world. Happy to allow her to steer the alpha male to the surface, he never expected it to happen so fast. When his shirt falls to the ground and reveals the red scratches on his back, Michonne becomes the first person to jump between his worlds. She is no longer only the cartel boss' Thursday interlude, but she is also officer friendly's dirtiest secret.
Lori stares at her husband back, and revulsion propelled to the surface the words on the tip of her tongue.
"Rick?" Her voice carries the indignant cry around the entire household.
Rick doesn't flinch and continues to disrobe. Perhaps, he is tired of the farce that has become his life. He hasn't left the room with Michonne. He hasn't digested the rejection. As for now, he is displaying the traces, which she left on him as a reminder of her. Lori's reaction can reassure him. He had her for few hours.
The brunette woman jumps out of the bed, and she expects an answer from her husband. Is it the wrong moment to find some humour to the situation? A cynical chuckle burns Rick's throat with the need to escape, but it dies on his lips. Lori's boldness and audacity are ones to write on many chapters. Did her shame cease to exist? Where does she find such ability to display indignation? Rick has to cease his musing, and the extra noise gives him a headache.
"If it can help you cope, sweetheart. You aren't the most discreet cheater in this house, Lori." He throws nonchalantly while he bends to collect his clothes on the floor.
Lori blinks as the sudden shock caused by Rick's statement. Her mouth and eyes dry. She swallows hard to humidify her throat, and her bravado falters. All questions, which she wanted to fire faster than a machine gun, tumble on her tongue. She stares at her husband back while he fills the basket of dirty laundry. Rick continues with his casual task as if he didn't drop a bomb on his shame of marriage.
"What are you talking about?" the feigned offence deserves an Oscar because even horror transcends her voice.
Not a single hesitation or any stuttered words, and Rick wonders how appropriate will it be to clap. People in his cartel will beneficiate from Lori's magnificent ability to lie. Sadly, her overconfidence will be her ruin. Rick ignores part of her question because he actually intends to sleep. Why would he argue about anything that wouldn't have major repercussion? He removes his boxer and throws them around the room. He slips his bare ass into his blue silk pyjama and returns to his bed.
"Rick?" Lori starts shouting, and she may as well broadcast for the entire neighbourhood.
The remnant of paternal instinct in Rick makes him glance toward Carl's room. He doesn't want his son to wake up, and so he decides to engage a conversation with Lori. He intends it to be brief. He goes for the jugular and hopes the haemorrhage will be fatal.
"Wine and soap retreats? Is that a thang you like now or dick has you thinking we all are dumb?" his sudden vulgarity shocks his wife more than the contents of his statement.
Lori gasps, but she doesn't counter his statement. Her retreat is the last thing that she expects to justify. She was in Vegas for a month. Shocked and disoriented, she stares at an unbothered Rick. If it wasn't for the threatening aura around him, Lori will think he is sharing fun facts with her.
"I pretend to be dumb, but I have never pretended to be unobservant." He stands in front of her and stares deep into the agitated sea that became Lori's eyes.
"Rick… babe…" She tries to justify herself but Rick's phone interrupts her.
Rick stops listening to her. Displeased, he stares at his phone. He expected this moment to arrive. Despite the expectation, when princess appears as the contact id, his anger grows tenfold. Lori continues her endless monologue by his side while he considers breaking his phone. At the umpteenth pointless justification from Lori, Rick loses it. His big head covers Lori's mouth and drags her down on the bed. He straddled her, and her shivering body sinks down in their fluffy mattress.
"Listen here and make sure it's clear to you." He hisses when she tries to pry his arm away from her mouth.
The aggressiveness emanating from him is palpable, and so Lori does as he asked.
"I didn't care before, and I won't care now. Don't act as if you're a betrayed wife, and I won't try to find who you fuck. Do your thang or go to more retreats. I will continue paying for your broke lover but stay out of my way. " He removes his legs from around her waist, and he stands. He picks up his call.
"Princess…" Lori hears while he travels the corridor.
Through her shock and the confused fog recovering her mind, the pet name sticks. Lori doesn't intend to abide a warning given by officer friendly.
Thursday 4 approximately 25 minutes to midnight.
From his unique way to knock, Michonne recognizes Rick's signature. She drags herself from the closet floor and uses her thumbs to wipe her tears. Sinuous paths of dry tears taint her cheek with white strain. Her attempt to hide her tears is pointless. She slowly crosses her living room, and she confirms Andre is still sleeping. Her little angel is sound asleep. She draws a deep breath and convinces herself to go through betraying Mike.
She half-opens the door and finds a shirtless Rick leaning on the wall. She draws a sharp breath and stares at his tousled curl. Even the devil sleeps, and she can't help herself from thinking of him as a fallen angel. He does have the appearance of an angel, and yet possesses the malice of a fallen one. Rick's hand recovers Michonne's hand, which is holding the door half-closed. He pushes the door wide open and intertwines his fingers with her slender ones.
Rick drags Michonne inside her living room, and he stops when she is under the yellow light. He can fully bask in her ethereal beauty. The young woman is too exhausted to fight some sort of comfort. When he leans to kiss her, Michonne closes the distance. After a long lazy kiss, which carries an ultimate melancholy known to every end. She breaks their kiss with the last pull on his lower lip.
"He called, and it isn't Thursday." She reclaims her hand and puts some distance between them.
She knows her mind isn't clear, and she will attempt to find comfort anywhere. Through the Thursday interlude, there were some liberties. Although, she wanted to remember that she only abide by survivor instinct. With every touch, she felt an ounce of abandon, which disappeared under a mountain of problems as soon as his manhood left her eager core. Rick's body is an uneasy comfort, but still a comfort. It isn't surprising that she will seek it in a period of duress.
"He called." She repeats when he doesn't react.
Rick stares at her for a second and takes a spot on her couch. Eager to counter her statement, He checks his watch. The detective's nonchalance frustrates Michonne, and she walks toward the intercom to replay the message.
"Hey, Chonne I need your help… please." Mike's trembling voice breaks the tense silence, which suffocated the room's occupants.
Rick sits comfortably and opens his leg widely. He is a strange addition to Michonne living room. With the light filtering the different shade of his curls and reflecting on his pyjama silk pants. Michonne stops her pacing to stare at the vision he offers. In the past month, she has learned his body language. What she reads completely sets her off.
"You don't give a fuck if he called." She points accusingly toward him.
Rick's expression confirms her accusation. The frustration, which exponentially grew starts to dismember the control she has on her emotions.
"Why the fuck would you care, it is nothing but money to you." She restarts to pace back and forth.
Michonne grabs the nearest object to her and aims it at Rick. He dodges easily and fishes for something in his pocket. He glances at her peripherally because he expects another outburst of anger. He drags out a lonesome cigarette from the pocket of his pyjama. He lights it and continues to watch the woman have a breakdown.
"He could be dying, and like a dumbass, I called you." She continuous her rants and more objects are waltzing toward Rick.
"He called and you shouldn't be here. It's over, and this mess is over. " She speaks vehemently.
Her forefinger keeps going back and forth between Rick and her to emphasize which mess. Fully exhausted and emotionally drained, she stops pacing.
….
….
….
"I have twenty minutes until the switch to Friday, and I ain't wasting it on thoughts and prayers for your husband." He adds to the conversation.
Michonne stares at her empty living room until Rick's stoic voice drags her out of her imprisoning thoughts.
"Come here, princess." His voice carries a warmth, which doesn't match the character.
She is hesitant, and she doesn't know if she must expect retribution for her anger. Rick appears calm and sounds relax. Often, His external appearance of calm indicates the opposite of his internal emotions. When he continues to blow smoke's circle in her living room, Michonne doesn't know what to think. She cautiously joins him, and he places her between his parted legs.
"A cheating asshole isn't worth tears." Rick drags her down until she sits on his lap.
He drags his hand from her shivering arms to the dry sinuous stream on her cheeks. When the cold gold band grazes her skin, Michonne always reacts. With a complete knowledge of how bad and sinful their Thursday interactions are, she stares into his eyes.
"Yeah… talking from a point of experience." She answers with a lack of tact, which he knows to be characteristics of her boldness. Her eyes settle on his ring, and he smirks as an answer. Rick never disregards her sincerity, and it is a part of the things, which keeps him interested. She has a strong backbone, and he can try to break as he wants but doubts to be successful.
"What are you going to do to him?" Worriedly, she inquires about her husband.
Why pretend she doesn't care about Mike? She has shown her emotions, and she knows Rick perceive her as his possession. Therefore, she may have worsened her husband's fate.
"How I like it, and when it is convenient for you." He decides to ignore the conversation, which she wants to start.
Michonne still wears the dress, which she wore earlier, and her skin still carries his scent. Rick's nose rests on her neck.
"Are you going to hurt him?" The words resonate through her chest, and he considers giving a heartbreaking answer.
Rick repositions Michonne's body until she straddles him, and his hands roam around her hips. She is a raging flame, and he loves how consuming she is. Perhaps, he should lie to her, and then he would pretend to be a half-decent person. A person who wouldn't fuck her the entire night and kill her husband the next minute. The type of men, who women with great morals and generous hearts as her love. Rick Grimes is a man, who a woman like Michonne loathes. However, she can't really fight the primal attraction.
"I'm going to kill him. After you call him and find out where he is hiding." He confesses without any regrets.
She has fucked with the worst side of him. In front of Michonne, he comes bare. Which is why she is so addictive. The tears, which he forbade her to shed for a cheating asshole, start to fall. He glances at the clock. In five minutes, Thursday ends. Therefore, he has five minutes to have her in a way, which he likes. He wraps his arms around her waist and hugs her. At the first chirp to midnight, he presses a kiss to her lips. Her arms try to shove him away, and she rejects him as he expected.
Michonne calls back Mike, but there is no answer. Rick doesn't say anything, and so Michonne panics. What does it mean for her and their arrangement? She held her part of the bargain.
"It's over right?" She can't continue to be stuck in this arrangement.
She can't stand it, but not for the apparent excuses. She hates it because the arrangement draws to the surface dangerous parts of her.
"Yeah?" Rick drawls out and leaves her apartment.
Michonne stares at the closing door. With Rick gone, she can't help but run her hand over her lips. Never once has he touched her in a way, which didn't display sexual interest. Despite the fact that she hates the man to some extent, the soft caring touch perturbs her. She hasn't been on at the receiving end of such touch in two months. She lays on the couch where their arrangement started and seemingly ended. Michonne falls into a dreamless sleep.
Friday.
A soft knock wakes Michonne, and she tries to retrieve some of her sense. Her thumbs clean her eyes and rub away the dry tears. She half crawls or half-walk to her door. She hits the table on her way, and it is enough to arouse her. In a fashion, which has become a habit, the young woman opens halfway her door, and she faces a mail carrier holding an extremely big parcel. Michonne is baffled. She doesn't expect anything or a parcel.
Michonne takes the package, and she has to drop it on the floor. She fails to carry it inside. She has to drag it because the content is almost unmovable. She picks a card on top and a white envelope. The young woman opens the envelope, and her heart starts to shatter. She freezes, and she is unable to hold it. The little object falls on the floor, and the sound of metal hitting a floor multiple times resonate through the entire silent house. Michonne stares at the wedding band that she picked for Mike, and blood recovers every corner.
She knows she should not open the box, but her morbid curiosity overwhelms her reasoning. A horror cry leaves her lips, and her knee can't carry her. She falls on her parquet. Panicked, she crawls away from the box, which contains her husband dead body. Heavy tears start to disrupt her vision, and her shaking hand brings the card to her sight.
"7 days…"
